Stories from Robert Browning

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G. Bell, 1882 - 228 páginas
Prose adaptations of selected works of Robert Browning.

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Página 166 - You'll love me yet !—and I can tarry Your love's protracted growing : June reared the bunch of flowers you carry From seeds of April's sowing. ' I plant a heartfull now : some seed At least, is sure to strike— And yield—what you'll not pluck indeed, Not love, but,
Página 98 - Took sanctuary within the holier blue, . And sang a kindred soul out to his face, — Yet human at the red-ripe of the heart — When the first summons from the darkling earth
Página 222 - that nothing is what it calls itself, that faith and loyalty should turn out mere love ! And what may Berthold's love be ? I was wrong in distrusting the world so soon. The valley-level has its hawks, no doubt. May not the rock-top have its eagles, too
Página xxix - see All —The Great Before and After, and the Small Now, yet be saved by this the simplest lore, And take the single course prescribed before, As the king-bird with ages on his plumes Travels to die in his ancestral glooms.' * And we know, from the concluding paragraph, that the love which selects that course for man to follow in is
Página 158 - How—can this arm establish her above me, If fortune fixed her as my lady there, There already, to eternally reprove me ? ("Hist"—said Kate the queen; But " Oh "—cried the maiden, binding her tresses, " 'Tis only a page that carols unseen Crumbling your hounds their messes!") ' Is she wronged ?—To the rescue of her honour, My heart! Is she poor?^—What costs it to become a
Página 98 - To toil for man, to suffer or to die, — This is the same voice : can thy soul know change ? Hail, then, and hearken from the realms of help
Página 166 - you'll not pluck indeed, Not love, but, maybe, like. ' You'll look, at least, on love's remains, A grave's one violet : Your look ?—that pays a thousand pains. What's death ?—You'll love me yet
Página 166 - I plant a heartfull now : some seed At least, is sure to strike— And yield—what you'll not pluck indeed, Not love, but, maybe, like. ' You'll look, at least, on love's remains, A grave's one violet : Your
Página xxxvii - guarded calm, that guest May enter gladly, blow what wind there will,—- Boiled round with breakers, to no other cry ! All in one choros,—what the master-word They take up ?—hark ! '' There are no gods, no gods ! Glory to God—who saves Euripides
Página 194 - not triumph with the god ! Come ! But Djabal refuses, and demands, ' Why need there be more shame still? You have called this deed mine; it is so: I accept all its circumstances. How can I strive longer against my fate ? The past is past. Listen ! the argosies touch land ere now. Let them bear us to fresh scenes and happier skies.

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